


Where Eagles Have Been

by stayingputwouldbeablunder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, M/M, The Alpha Pack, only based off what I've seen on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not something he notices he’s doing at first, flinching away when people raise their arms around him. At least lacrosse season is over, he thinks bitterly, and no one can call him on it. But he hangs out with werewolves and trying to get anything past them is near impossible. Stiles tries though, to remain normal, because being assaulted by a seventy year old man isn’t something you go bragging about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Eagles Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> I'm relatively new to the fandom and have only been around for about two and half months, but can I just say what a lovely place it is to be? Because it's a lot different from the other fandoms I have been a part of.
> 
> Anyways, this is the first fic I've felt comfortable posting in a really long time and the first time on this site. Be gentle with me, please. This is in no way beta'd and any characterization or spelling mistakes are entirely my fault.
> 
> Edits 4/1/13: Fixed a few spelling errors.

It’s not something he notices he’s doing at first, flinching away when people raise their arms around him. His father is actually the one who tells him after he moves to pat his shoulder and Stiles ducks his head. At least lacrosse season is over, he thinks bitterly, and no one can call him on it. But he hangs out with werewolves and trying to get anything past them is near impossible. Stiles tries though, to remain normal, because being assaulted by a seventy year old man isn’t something you go bragging about.

He feels more kinship to Derek’s betas than he probably should. Boyd and Erica were strung up in that basement and forced to watch Gerard beat him until the room was spinning and up was down. Isaac’s father locked him in a freezer in the basement, hit him, verbally abused him into the meek boy no one knew until after Derek gave him the bite. They all know what torture feels like and that’s just something that Scott can’t relate to.

Stiles doesn’t blame him, doesn’t ever want Scott to know what he went through for the sake of hurting him. Allison’s mom might have almost killed him, and Gerard did stab him in the stomach with a knife, but the psychological damage of being beaten until the world goes dark and dumped in the parking lot of his school at eleven at night isn’t something you get over easy.

Scott doesn’t pick up on it at first because they both have things to worry about. Even with the whole kanima problem taken care of, there is still the fact they have a month and half left of school, Allison is not speaking to anyone, Lydia’s pissed at everyone, and Jackson’s AWOL. When they’re on the lacrosse field shooting goals and Stiles tells Scott he still has him, his best friend, he means it. But the problem there is that he doesn’t have Scott. Allison does, regardless of their relationship ending, and Stiles can’t compete with that. So he lies and Scott doesn’t pick up on anything until after school is out. By then Isaac has become attached to Scott’s hip like a lost little puppy and Stiles stops pretending everything is okay.

The Alphas have started lurking around Beacon Hills for a few weeks, announcing themselves by kidnapping Erica and Boyd for three days. Isaac tells Stiles while they are waiting for Scott to finish cleaning an exam room at the vet office. Stiles goes quiet for about ten seconds before demanding to know everything; he’s so keyed up by the time Scott’s done that he’s shaking. Isaac suggests they both go track down Derek or Peter because they both know far more than he does and the other betas aren’t talking. Stiles makes a mental note to call Erica, because even if she does hate him most days, he sees the potential for them to be friends. He debates calling Lydia because she’s involved now, too, but the pang of heartbreak pushes that thought back. Of course, Jackson has been absent from their lives since turning, so who knows.

As a group they visit the abandoned warehouse in hope of finding Derek. The man is sparring with Peter and there is a lot of crashing into things. The Hales hardly acknowledge them and they take seats on top of wooden crates silently. It’s painful, at least for Stiles, to watch them go at it as violently as they do. He tells himself the healing complex is to blame and flinches when Peter goes flying into the subway car. Derek’s grinning like he’s crazy and Stiles holds his breath.

The thing about being around werewolves other than Scott, bless him he’s trying, is that they can pick up on the subtle changes in emotion because of the scent in the air. Watching Derek and Peter go at it is like a trigger to the Argent’s basement and although it’s become second nature to conceal that fear from Scott, it’s an entirely different situation around people who have grown up having enhanced senses.

Stiles decides now is the best time to leave and rushes out of the warehouse after asking Scott to call him later. He realizes he’s shivering when he’s in the Jeep, breathing hard. He pulls out his phone, calls his father in a panic. After the voicemail recording rolls over he hangs up and drives home with the radio off. The Sheriff’s asleep on the living room couch when he gets there and Stiles throws a blanket over him before heading upstairs. That night the ever vivid reoccurring dream of being punched across his cheek and kicked in the ribs replays for the hundredth time.

Erica is sitting in his computer chair when he wakes up, twirling in circles as she leans back. She says hello before plopping down in the bed next to him and says Isaac was worried when he ran out on the pack the night before. Stiles shrugs, trying to calm his pulse, knowing Erica can read him easily. She doesn’t push, however, just crosses her legs and picks at her nails. They lay there for a few minutes in silence until he asks how she can be so normal when Gerard fucking Argent hung her up like some ornament and pulsed electricity through her body high enough she passed out. Erica’s breath hitches and even without all the werewolf senses, he knows that sound means she’s uncomfortable. She composes herself like a pro and then unleashes hell in the form of premeditated answers strewn with threats and curses.

Talking to Erica, of all people in his life, should not be as easy as it is. She brings her hand up to brush hair out of her face at one point, knuckles almost swiping against Stiles’ cheek and the boy freezes. She pulls her hand away before apologizing; it’s ironic that she’s picked up on something Scott still hasn’t realized after a two months when it took her all of thirty minutes. Stiles keeps listening silently, feeling a little better because Erica passes over what the Alphas did to her and Boyd with minimal description.

The Sheriff knocks on his door a few hours later; Erica left through the window saying she’ll see him soon. He lets Stiles know he’s leaving for work before waving an awkward goodbye. Stiles feels guilty for every lie he’s told his father and returns the gesture with a practiced smile. One of these days he’s going to tell him. And if the Alphas do what they are threatening to do, recruit Derek to their pack after they slaughter his betas, he will be forced to.

\- - -

They are all broken in one way or another, Stiles realizes. He’s not part of the pack, not really since he’s human and has nothing to contribute other than research. Scott’s the one who manages to talk him into coming to pack meetings since the Alphas are getting bolder in their pursuit. Peter’s blabbing on about something when Stiles realizes it.

He’s been tortured, is one of five in the room who knows the feeling of helplessness. Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Derek can relate to that. Peter’s the only person who survived the Hale fire and he’s fuck crazy despite seeming normal most of the time. Jackson’s silent these days because he’s still dealing with what being the kanima meant. Lydia was bit, lost herself in the woods naked for a few days, was strung along for months without being told what was going on, and found out she was immune before using that knowledge to demand she was let into the pack. Stiles wonders how they can all be so normal with the shit they’ve been through and realizes the only other person who’s never healed is the one person who shows no affinity for him whatsoever.

So the healing comes slowly. Erica helps, Isaac helps, Lydia tries. Being around people keeps him busy from thinking about what happened. He grows his hair out to hide the scar on the back of his skull where it connected with the cement floor of the Argent’s basement. The nightmares become fewer and further in between after Derek tells Stiles he’s pack despite not being a wolf - that should come off as an insult, but Stiles knows Derek is _trying_. The triggers are suppressed because the Alphas are attacking once a week and Stiles doesn’t have time to have panic attacks.

It’s easy to gravitate towards Lydia. She’s a lot calmer and hell of a lot nicer to him these days. Stiles gets over knowing he’ll never be the one with her surprisingly quick for having been in love with her for ten years. He sees how she watches Jackson, keeps him from slipping, and wishes he had someone. Lydia complains about her boyfriend and laughs when Stiles does the same. It’s nice to not be the only one who is still human.

The drift from Scott is so gradual the beta doesn’t realize it until one night in July. Stiles is sitting next to Lydia while she snoozes on his shoulder, leaning into him as he’s reading a translated portion of the Argent's bestiary on his laptop. Isaac is mid-sentence as they are walking past the subway car and Scott turns around to stare at Stiles. All he says is ‘ _dude, I thought we talked about this_ ’ and Stiles knows then that Scott hasn’t paid attention to anything other than the Alphas since this all began. Scott realizes he doesn’t have Stiles anymore, that their friendship has dissolved into barely talking, and frowns before leaving with Isaac.

\- - -

The Alphas find the warehouse that week and set the place ablaze. The twins are cackling as they circle the building, throwing bottles of lighter fluid into the cacophony of roaring flames and creaking metal. Deucalion watches the place burn until the police show up; it's one less place _they_ can hide. The Sheriff is there within ten minutes and the leader of the Alpha pack quirks a smirk when he hears the name Stilinski.

\- - -

Derek sends everyone a text message that Stiles realizes is frantic even if it is only four words long. He knows because it’s an address, the address to the loft Derek’s been residing in and has refused to tell anyone the location of. Stiles has the police radio blaring the entire drive across town, heart racing when he hears his father’s voice saying the warehouse is about to collapse.

Stiles parks two blocks away and runs the entire way to the loft, panting by the time he reaches a heavy metal sliding door. Derek opens it before pulling him in and locking it behind him. There’s no one else there, Stiles realizes, and he begins to panic before Derek shushes him.

“Where is everyone else?” Stiles bites out, trying to ignore the way Derek is pressing him softly against the door. “Where’s Scott?”

“I don’t know. No one replied. You didn’t reply. But it took you three minutes to get here so I assume everyone else is on their way.”

“Could you hear the police scanner?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

If there is one upside to the aftermath of being beaten it’s that Derek doesn’t throw him into walls or slam him against hard surfaces anymore. He did once, a month before, when they were running through the woods and Derek had pulled him out of the way of hunter’s bullet by throwing him to the ground. Stiles had curled in on himself for a brief moment before realizing it and when he looked up Derek looked like he was the one in pain.

Things go quiet. Stiles’ breathing slows but Derek keeps his hands on his arms, bracing him against the door. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but there is eventually a soft knock before Derek opens the door and Lydia slinks in with a messenger bag Stiles knows is full of caustic and flammable mixtures. He pulls her into a hug before she says anything and hears Derek make a low noise.

One by one the pack shuffles in; it's hell waiting until everyone is there. Boyd and Isaac arrive last, both with bloodied hands. Erica tightens her grip on Stiles’ hand; she had greeted him by scenting his neck and as awkward as that had been, she’d eased back from being half shifted.

“They followed us. Deucalion and Kali. We ran them in circles and doubled back to the warehouse. They stopped following then. They don’t know where we are, Derek,” Isaac says, eyes lit amber. “But the warehouse is gone. They’re going to go after your house.”

Peter comes out of the kitchen with a loud sigh. Derek growls at him with red eyes and all the wolves flinch. Stiles looks at Lydia, lost; something’s up.

“We need to retaliate. Now, preferably. The police and fire departments are short staffed. They won’t be able to respond to two disaster calls. Stiles, I would suggest calling your father,” Peter says; Stiles wants to punch him in his pretty face. “Derek, you need to call Deaton.”

“Jackson, call Danny,” Derek grinds out instead, baring teeth at Peter with glowing red eyes. “Now’s a good a time as any if you want to tell him he’s dating a werewolf. Scott, call Allison and have her father meet us at the house. Stiles, go with Lydia and get the stash of mountain ash I know Deaton made you hide from me then meet us as well. Isaac, Boyd, Erica, you follow. Everyone else, we are going to end this tonight.”

It’s compelling and the most he's ever heard Derek say at one time. Stiles fights the urge to yell ‘fuck yeah’. The pack disperses one by one, making sure they aren’t followed before slinking away to their cars.

It all goes to hell after that.

\- - -

In hindsight it was a horrible idea to split their numbers. The police radio is still on as Lydia watches for someone other than the betas to tail them. The police code for breaking and entering is called by dispatch and Lydia gasps.

“That’s Jackson’s house. Stiles! That’s Jackson’s house. We need to go check-”

“We don’t have time. Call him, call Derek. Do it, Lydia.”

“Stiles! We need-“

The radio crackles again and the dispatcher is more on edge as she calls out the code for shots fired.

“Oh fuck, that’s Scott’s house,” Stiles says, pulling the jeep over. “Oh fuck.”

“Jackson! Damnit, pick up your phone.”

“Scott, come on buddy, pick up.”

The radio beeps and they both hold their breath for the next address. This time it’s a car on fire near the exit to Beacon Hills Preserve. The dispatcher reads the make, model, and tag number off and both Lydia and Stiles look like they might faint.

“That’s the Camaro. Fuck, that’s Derek’s Camaro!”

“What do we do?” Lydia’s voice is so small it’s hard to hear over the radio. “Stiles, where are the wolves?”

Stiles turns around to realize Erica’s Taurus is no longer behind them. Before he can answer the radio dispatcher starts yelling. It’s a jumble of words that Stiles can’t translate after he hears the code and then his address. The Alphas have set fire to his house and he’s two miles away armed with nothing but a snack sized bag of mountain ash, a baseball bat, and a taser.

“Stiles! What do we do?”

“I don’t know.” The police scanner is now a flurry of officers calling their responses; his father’s voice is absent. “Try calling everyone.”

The phone in his hand starts vibrating and the screen says unknown number. Stiles slides his finger across the screen slowly before putting the receiver to his ear. Next to him Lydia is sucking back sobs and biting her lip.

“Hello?”

“Oh thank god, you didn’t keep driving.”

“Erica! Where did you go? My house-”

“Boyd went to Jackson’s. Isaac’s on his way to Scott’s. I’m at your house and the only good news I can offer is that it’s not on fire.”

“Thanks. Where’s Derek?”

“What do you mean, where’s Derek? Scott texted me and said the house was secure.”

“Someone set the Camaro on fire.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Get over here now, get what you need and then we have to go. Derek will kill me if I leave you two without protection, so hurry.”

The dispatcher comes back on the radio, voice cracking as she reads out another code, this time someone requiring medical attention, and the world stops because the victim’s last name is Mahealani. The address is somewhere downtown, near the local restaurants and by Jungle. Some deputy Stiles doesn’t recognize says he’ll be on scene with an ETA of 2 minutes and the Jeep lurches into drive.

The world keeps whirling until the deputy says medical staff is on scene and the victim is stable but bleeding from a head wound. Stiles breathes out a ‘thank fuck’ and yanks the keys out before telling Lydia to stay: she’s still trying to get a hold of Jackson and Scott but no one is answering. Erica’s waiting on his front porch, flicking her eyes to the symbol on his front door. It’s the Alpha triskele and the smell of burnt wood is pungent.

There’s a lot of rushing around, grabbing whatever he thinks might be useful from his room before pulling a duffel bag full of mountain ash from the ceiling in the spare. He runs a messy circle around his home before Erica yells at him, instilling whatever belief he has left to keep the place safe from fire, Alphas, anyone who intends to harm it.

Lydia finally manages to get a hold of Peter and his voice sounds ragged over the speaker. The sound flickers in and out and Stiles hears howling in the background before the call is dropped. The police scanner is a flood of officers yelling at each other and responding to calls, someone piping in to say the warehouse exploded and set the building next to it on fire. Erica shifts in the backseat and says they need to get to Derek’s house immediately.

Driving past the Camaro while it’s still on fire hits home, but at least the police are somewhere else attending the rest of the problems the Alphas are stirring up. Stiles gets his father on the phone after the twelfth try and tells him the house isn’t on fire and not to go check. The Sheriff threatens him before calling Stiles by his real first name and demanding to know what the hell is going on. Stiles goes quiet before saying that if everyone survives the night he will tell him in the morning. His father yells at him again before telling him to be safe and hanging up.

“Stiles, cut the lights.” Erica’s crouched in the trunk space, eyes scanning back and forth. “The hunters are already here.”

“Stop the car.” Lydia’s composed again, rifling through her bag to slip a knife into her boot, pulling a handful of glass tubes out, and shoving three at Erica. “We need a vehicle to get away if it comes to it. Driving into battle will lose us our advantage.”

Stiles reluctantly slows to a stop on the side of the gravel road. Erica is out and handing him his duffel before the door is closed and Lydia is busy shoving as many of the glass tubes into her shirt as she can. She hands him five before pulling a flask from her bag and shifting it to her back. Stiles hides the tubes in his pocket but keeps one between his fingers, shaking it.

They’re ingenious and convenient, Lydia’s creations. On one side is a bulb of water laced with wolfsbane, on the other a small section of potassium. They are separated by a thin breakable glass section. When cracked, the water comes into contact with the potassium and creates a small explosion of fire and glass.

They make it to the house without coming into contact with anyone or anything else. Chris Argent is waiting by his Suburban, band of merry hunters flanked around him. Allison is next to him, clutching her bow tightly, and rushes to embrace both Lydia and Stiles. She offers Erica a forced smile before the woods ring with howls that do not belong to the pack.

“Erica?”

“Get behind me. That Kali bitch is almost here.”

“Erica,” Stiles says again, trying to shake Lydia from where she’s digging her nails into his hand.

The trees go silent. Somewhere off in the distance sirens ring and pass the preserve. Allison draws her bow and something explodes a hundred feet away. The next thing Stiles knows, Deucalion is looming over him, licking his lips with a devious grin. There’s a crunch of glass, a blinding light, and then the world goes black.

\- - -

Stiles isn’t really sure how he ends up in a tree, Lydia perched next to him, hurling her little tubes of fiery death. He doesn’t remember drawing a circle of ash around the base of the tree, dripping blood into the black line before telling it not to let anyone touch them. He doesn’t remember climbing and pulling Lydia up next to him.

“Fuck.”

“Don’t do that,” Lydia snaps, voice raspy. “We need to get out of here.”

“We need the pack. Where the hell are they?”

Stiles looks around: the Alphas are toying with the hunters. Erica’s getting her ass kicked. The woman with dark brown hair is laughing until Lydia sets the ground next to her on fire. Stiles clenches his palms before remembering they’re embedded with bits of glass and bites out another curse.

Like something out of a science fiction novel, the pack comes flying over the ridge of the next hill. They’re all shifted, as much as they can. Derek’s leading them, a complete wolf, something he’s allowed people to see a total of once. The twins are behind, half shifted as well. The other woman is limping behind, wolf-Peter right at her feet, catching her ankle before they go tumbling through leaf litter.

It’s a hot mess. The hunters start shooting into the darkness, aiming for the Alphas but almost catching the pack every few shots. The betas rush to help Erica, sprinting to avoid Allison’s arrows. Derek stops below the tree Stiles and Lydia are in before growling.

“Go take them down. You can lecture us later.”

Derek curls his lip up before howling. The rest of the pack returns it and the Alphas all shift into wolves. The hunters stop shooting, lost between knowing who’s good or bad. There’s a lot of snarling, teeth clacking together, pitiful whines.

“We should probably get out of this tree,” Lydia whispers, flinching when Jackson is thrown into a large oak. “You’re bleeding and we can’t help now.”

“Do me a favor and pull the charge out of my back pocket.” Lydia gives him a questioning look before doing as asked. “Thanks.”

Stiles bites his lip before reaching into his jacket for the taser. He switches the charges, before aiming the taser away from them. One of the twins runs by, Ethan he thinks, Isaac and Boyd on his tail, both covered in scratches and blood. Stiles shoots and the taser catches Aiden. The wolf snarls at the charge, yanks hard enough he pulls the teen from the tree, and runs off again.

“Stiles!”

“I’m okay. He won’t be. Get down here and bring my bat.” The wolf makes it a hundred feet before collapsing and Stiles grins. “Hurry up.”

“What did you do?”

Stiles grins and tucks the bat beneath his arm; inflicting the gaping wound in Deucalion’s chest had been a good idea at the time but now it sucked.  Lydia pulls him back into their circle, grabbing his hands to pull any shards she can see.

“The needles were soaked in a type of wolfsbane that paralyzes. Deaton gave it to me a month ago and I haven’t had a chance to use it. Fuck, don’t tug so hard.”

“You’re an idiot. You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have cracked my babies and kept them in your hand. We don’t heal, honey. We’re human.”

“Yep. And that makes us badass motherfuckers.”

Lydia gives him one of her trademarked looks before smirking with pursed lips and reaching for Stiles’ other hand. She pulls one chunk glass out before the wolves go rushing by again. Allison runs towards them and tells them to drop before bullets go soaring past.

The sirens that were off in the distance start to grow over the sounds of battle and someone yells ‘run’. The pack run the Alphas north, the hunters are in their cars and speeding off, and Stiles slinks to the ground while Lydia runs into the house to hide her stash of explosives and his bag of mountain ash and baseball bat. Even if he makes it back to the jeep, any one of the police are bound to find him and report to his father. Might as well keep them busy while the pack rip the Alphas to shreds.

\- - -

Stiles spends two hours in the ER with Misses McCall reprimanding him. She gives him shots in both arms to numb him from the elbow down and plucks glass from his skin until the pale flesh is covered in pocks and blood. Lydia sits next to him, pressed against his side as reassurance, glaring at the officer that has been stationed at the end of the bed. Scott’s mom tells him to leave after a while, tugs the curtain closed around them, and says she shot _something_ with two rounds of a shotgun four hours ago.

“The Alphas attacked. They set Derek’s car on fire. They burned down the warehouse. Someone broke into Jackson’s. They attacked Danny. They burned their symbol into my front door.”

“Is Scott alright?”

“We don’t know,” Lydia says, tapping away on her phone furiously. “They all ran off before the cops showed up and threw us in the back of a cruiser.”

“They’re probably fine. The Alphas are down one member and another one looked like she could barely run.”

“You two need to be more careful,” Melissa chides, filing in some of the wounds with one ointment and rubbing silver sulfadiazine over others. “You’re going to need stitches on your palms.”

“How many?”

“Six on your left, eight on right. “

“Crap.”

“Your father is going to kill you, Stiles. I would punish you myself but you’ll be regretting whatever you did to cause these wounds tomorrow. I’ll give you some painkillers before you leave but you better not rip these open.”

“At least they did what they were supposed to,” Stiles mumbles; Lydia looks up from her phone and laughs.

The police officer waits until Stiles is all stitched up before taking their statements, informing Stiles his car is part of a crime scene, and escorting them to Lydia’s car. Stiles calls his father and leaves a voicemail saying he’s safe when they arrive back at the house. Lydia stays with him through the night, sitting on the couch armed with the spare hand gun the Sheriff keeps hidden in the piano no one plays anymore and keeping their phones in their hands. No one calls.

When the Sheriff stomps in at five the next morning, Stiles gets up from the couch and hugs him like it’s his only mission in the world. His father returns it before his voice is booming. Lydia peeks out from the family room, says hello, and says she’ll explain because Stiles needs to take his pain meds.

It’s a long and complicated talk. By the time it’s over Stiles just wants to curl up in bed and never get out. The Sheriff looks like he’s one more mention of werewolf away from having an aneurism before sending him to his room and asking for Lydia to go home. He grounds Stiles indefinitely, pulls him into another tight hug, then sets off to cover the triskele on their front door.

That Stiles is still alive at the end of it is all he can ask for.

\- - -

He doesn’t hear from anyone in the pack for two days. When he does, it’s a text from Isaac that simply says ‘ _We’re coming home_ ’. Lydia calls him before coming over. Stiles fidgets and pulls at his stitches, trying to ignore the pain that flares from his palms. His father hasn’t come home since he left after painting the front door - there are five open cases and all the news can report is trying to guess whether all the incidences were related.

A day after that, Lydia’s phone goes off while she’s helping him change his bandages. She answers quickly, voice wavering slightly until Stiles can hear mumbling over the speaker. She immediately calms before nodding and saying they’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Stiles doesn’t even ask, just chews on his lip as his skin prickles bits of pain before the pressure of the bandage lessens it.

“They’re back.”

“Where are we going? The house or the loft?”

“The loft,” Lydia says, tucking the end of the wrap beneath a layer of cotton. “Let’s go.”

Stiles leaves his father a poorly written note because gripping the pen strains the stitches, saying he’s with the pack and he’s sorry. Lydia drives them to the loft in Erica's car - it's been sitting ominously in the driveway for days -, parks three blocks away to be safe, and loops her arm through Stiles’ as they walk past unknowing passerbyers. There’s noise from the loft and Scott is rushing towards him before he can even step in the room. Stiles sees hands flying towards his face, halts momentarily, then remembers Scott would never hurt him, not intentionally. Scott’s crying into his shoulder and Stiles returns the hug as best he can before catching Derek looming from the desk.

“Where are the Alphas?” he asks when Scott has finally let go of him enough to let him inside the apartment. “And where’s the rest of the pack?”

“Erica and Boyd are passed out in the spare bedroom. Isaac went to check on Danny. Peter’s at the house. Jackson’s in the kitchen eating his weight in food.” Derek glares before walking towards Stiles with intent. “Let me see your hands.”

“I’m fine.” It comes so naturally Stiles thinks it sounds honest. Then he remembers Derek can hear the spike of his pulse and holds his arms out. “Just stitches.”

“You smell like silver.”

“It’s for the burns. Lydia’s brilliant little weapons worked.”

“I noticed.” Derek turns his hands over in his palms, running calloused fingers over the bandages. “Deucalion was pissed.”

Derek’s gentle as he handles Stiles’ hands, cautious to hold them too tightly or press in the sensitive spots. He pulls pain from them without asking and the relief is immediate. Stiles watches the black seep into Derek’s veins before he catches the alpha’s eyes. Derek lets him go slowly before turning around to sit on the couch. Stiles follows, Scott curling up next to him, and listens to the alpha tell him what happened. He ignores how Derek shifts closer to him in favor of petting Scott’s hair until his best friend falls asleep across his lap.

When Stiles thinks back, it’s when _it_ happens, when he begins to fall. Lydia will tell him a few months later that they had been dancing around each other for a year and Stiles will spend an entire weekend rewinding several instances - Derek getting shot, Derek pushing him out of the way when the kanima attacked them at the pool, Derek lying next to him at the police station- with renewed perspective. Scott will apologize for two months straight before saying that he knew something was off because Derek never pulled pain from anyone and Stiles will make Scott buy him curly fries while interrogating him about the significance of that. Peter will clasp his hand on Stiles’ shoulder with a laugh, saying it was obvious to any of the wolves, and Stiles will punch him in the face that time.

\- - -

With the Alphas gone, one in jail and the rest in hiding, life goes back to normal. The pack spends a lot of time together because they have gotten so used to always being around one another. The Sheriff consents to letting Stiles hang out with the pack under the premise that they stay out of trouble and he's is informed when supernatural things are in Beacon Hills. School starts, lacrosse picks back up, the boys all make first line. Stiles’ initial fear of people coming too close to his face resurfaces badly only once and Scott is there to reassure him Gerard is dead. That night Derek comes clambering into his room through the window and they sit in comfortable silence until Stiles falls asleep.

Stiles finds himself gravitating again, from time with Erica or Lydia or Scott to wherever Derek is. Sometimes it’s at the loft, when they are all sitting around doing homework as a group, and Stiles sits in the place he knows is Derek’s favorite because the cushions smell like his body wash. Other times it’s when they’re at the Hale house, gutting the place so Derek can start rebuilding. Stiles gets phantom pains in his hands from where the glass had been embedded bone deep and Derek always recognizes it before it gets too bad and pulls the discomfort from Stiles’ palms.

Erica teaches him how to fight without weapons one day, the rest of the betas seated around on the steps watching. Derek feeds him clues about her weaknesses before pushing him back in front of the blond with a smirk. Stiles holds himself for about thirty seconds before he’s on his back and Erica’s smiling down at him. He knocks her off her feet, lies across her stomach, and says he wins. Derek backs him up and Jackson snorts so loudly Lydia cuffs the back of his head before saying it’s her turn.

It’s as gradual as the drift from Scott was but with more certain intent. Stiles knows it is probably a horrible idea to want anything more than friendship from Derek; the man has a bag of emotional issues worse than Stiles does and he refuses to talk about them. Stiles has the pack, Scott again. Derek technically has the pack too, but even there trust is hard earned; he’s left with Peter and they’ll never be completely okay because Peter killed Laura.

Stiles spends a lot of time getting Derek to open up to him. He tells him that pack is the reason he’s better now some night he skips lacrosse practice because his hands hurt. Derek traces the scars on the pale skin of Stiles’ forearms, down his wrists, across the darkened lines of his palms. There are a myriad of darker patches, intermixed between his moles, just some of many scars that dance across his skin like some badge of badassery for running with wolves.

When Scott and Allison get back together, Stiles is happy for his best friend. They’ve gotten over their falling out and Scott’s realized that he’ll always have Stiles because they are bros for life; he just needed to be more proactive in their friendship. Derek allows Allison into the pack only once every other member has agreed. They throw a party in Derek’s loft because it happens around Thanksgiving and things are nice.

There are nights when being alone reminds him too much of being kidnapped and those he spends at Derek’s. Peter’s there sometimes, Isaac too, and usually everyone sits around the couch while Stiles does homework and the wolves watch television. The nights when research takes priority and he falls asleep across a slew of old text books the Hales kept, he wakes up in Derek’s bed, blanket tucked around his frame. Derek’s usually asleep in the spare or on the couch if Isaac is there and Stiles wonders why the man doesn’t just kick him out. He steals one of the alpha’s henleys to sleep in during the first bad cold front and figures that it is a good thing that Derek never asks for it back.

The pack spends most of their winter break helping paint the Hale house, restored enough that the structure is stable again but is basically empty. They crank a radio and sing along to horrible pop music, get into paint fights, act like children. Peter calls them reckless pups, buys them children's paint brushes, and says he’s off to run a week long errand, code for ‘ _how is this my pack_ ’ and ‘ _Derek, what were you thinking_ ’. Stiles’ hands cramp after a while and Derek works his magic before wiping a dab of maroon paint from Stiles’ cheek and smiling. Stiles laughs, nudges the alpha in the arm, and walks away grinning.

When he falls asleep on the one couch in the place later that week he wakes up covered in paint: the pack has covered his arms, neck, and face in doodles. The ever mature scribblings of PEN15 grace his forehead (Jackson), the handlebar mustache he once thought would look cool is on his upper lip (Boyd); someone’s connected the moles on his jaw into a star. Erica or Lydia, one of them, has written loopy script along his biceps in blue even though they haven’t reached the room that paint was allocated for. There’s a word bubble coming out of the corner of his mouth that says ‘arooo’ and he wonders what he did to Scott to warrant that. There’s some sort of tribal symbol banded across his right forearm with Isaac’s initials next to it. Allison’s painted a heart on his right palm with an arrow going through it. The thing that sticks out more than anything though is the tiny black paw print painted on an unblemished patch of skin on his left wrist.

It takes six showers and endless scrubbing to get the most of paint off his skin. The pack is in howls when he shows up the next day and there are still remnants of words on his face and half the star on his neck. Scott apologizes, Isaac complains that he spent a long time painting what he did, and Erica says it’s probably a good idea to never fall asleep around them again. Stiles shrugs and laughs and they start painting again. When his hands cramp up this time, Stiles seeks Derek out. The man is in one of the old bedrooms, staring longingly at the window before noticing Stiles. When he does he walks toward him before sighing, reaching for his hands. Stiles hears his breath falter and breaks into a wide smile when Derek’s eyes catch his.

The paw print is still there, vivid black and curling around only one edge, the only thing he made no effort to wash away. Stiles watches Derek swipe a finger across the mark he left, pain fading away. Derek kisses him on the mouth then, proper in the way all first kisses should be, hesitating before putting a hand around Stiles’ neck. Stiles encourages him, puts Derek’s hands exactly where they belong, and doesn’t care one bit that his heart is about to jump out of his chest. It’s everything he dreamed it would be and more because neither of them are in danger or about to die. They’re still kissing when Allison finds them ten minutes later and yells that Lydia won the pool.

It's quick compared to the relative timeline from enemies to friends to something more. Derek kisses Stiles like it is always his last chance to do so, holding him gently even though Stiles knows his wolf wants to pin him down and claim him; they’ll get to that stage eventually and he will love every moment of it because it will be Derek, not Gerard, holding him down and making his world stop for all the right reasons. Stiles forgets to flinch when Derek is around and realizes that the man has become his own sort of anchor. He tells Derek he loves him first, a little under a year after Deaton and Miss Morrell hunted Gerard down and disposed of his body. Derek repeats it back, wraps Stiles in a hug, and bites a bruise into his neck right beneath his jawline.

Stiles gets use to that too, the marking and scenting that Derek does like second nature whenever they are alone. It’s how the Sheriff finds out, because ‘ _son, if you tell me those are from lacrosse one more time, I’ll start showing up at practice to see who in the hell would want to hit you repeatedly in the neck_ ’. Stiles tells him then, expects the backlash, rubs his fingers across the darkened scars along his arms. His father sighs, says he’s been expecting this conversation for months, reminds him that he has a gun, multiple guns, and that he will use every single one of them to shoot Derek if the man hurts him.

The pack spend most of spring break making Derek fill the house with furniture and everything necessary for living in. Derek claims the master on the third floor before letting everyone else have their pick of the rooms for ‘whatever they want’. Stiles asks why and the man says the pack is the closest he’ll get to family, ‘ _at least for now_ ’- the implication alone is enough to make his heart race -, he’s tired of Isaac living by himself, and no one else is using them. Isaac moves in permanently and the rest of the pack make the Hale house their second home, Peter exempt because he has no desire to live there and prefers the loft. Derek kicks everyone out the day Stiles turns eighteen and they spend the entire day making love in the master bedroom. Derek kisses Stiles sometime during the afterglow of their third round and says it’s his room too, if he wants.

Their dealing with the supernatural never goes away and it seems like something unusual comes traipsing through Beacon Hills every few months. Stiles manages to get himself kidnapped on occasion but the triggers are never as bad as they once were: he knows that Derek would slaughter everyone and everything if Stiles was injured. It’s added to the list of non-shitty things that came out of being tortured, alongside not being shoved into walls with mal-intent. Now when Derek presses him into walls it is to kiss him or strip him of his clothes, a prelude to a fantasy Stiles never imagined coming true.

When he’s older, legal according to the law and he’s been with Derek for two years, Stiles asks Scott go with him to the tattoo parlor downtown. It becomes a group outing before he realizes it and the pack, all home from their colleges for winter break, descend on the poor place one afternoon in January; they make up for it by keeping the tattoo artists busy while they all get the same symbol branded on their backs. Stiles has to confirm with the tattoo artist what he wants three times before the man agrees to ink him. Derek holds his right hand and presses a kiss to the back when the buzzing begins and the paw print the man painted on him so many moons ago becomes permanent.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feels. Overflowing feels.
> 
> Fun fact, when you put solid potassium in water it catches on fire and zooms around the surface until it burns itself out. I assume that if they were mixed in a closed container that the pressure change from the flames would be enough to make the container explode. That is literally the only thing I remember from chemistry classes in high school. The only thing I remember from college chemistry is wanting to cry all of the time and writing really shitty lab reports.
> 
> Oh, I could have sworn I saw somewhere that there were two women in the alpha pack. I'm too lazy to change it now.
> 
> The title of this is from a song by Wolfmother. 
> 
> Come say hello on my tumblr @ staying-put-would-be-a-blunder!


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